The Tsaritsa
by shukuo
Summary: Anyanka devises an ingenious plan to wreak vengeance, long before she becomes human. Some details taken from Selfless, others from history. Xanya much, much later. In progress.
1. What Brings You to Paris?

(AN: I'm a writer, not a historian. I tried to base this story on reality as far as possible, but I am giving advance warning that there might be anachronisms, changes in history, and plain old mistakes.)

St. Petersburg, 1905

"Vengeance is what I do, Halfrek. I don't need anything else. Vengeance is what I am."

There were muffled screams coming from far below the palace hall, but the two sitting at table with a coterie of corpses by their sides did not pay them any attention. There were none left alive inside, creating the comforting feeling of being sheltered on a winter's night while the wind roars ineffectually outside. The pair was laughing contentedly.

"Oh, what a lovely idea, Anyanka!" cooed Halfrek. "I always knew you were a vengeance demon extraordinaire!"

"It'll take some work, but I'm optimistic," replied Anyanka, "After all, the upper echelon of Paris contains one of the highest percentages of spurned women in the world. Dozens of vengeance demons have tried to help them, but the ladies cling so tightly to their elitism. They won't say two consecutive words to someone of a lower station, and certainly not gossip. If I could crack their clique, hear and grant their hearts' wishes..."

"Besides," Anyanka added, leaning over to stroke the forehead of a young lady's corpse. "Little Anastasia and I have so much in common..."

"Good luck," whispered Halfrek as Anyanka disappeared. "Make D'Hoffryn proud... and make me proud." A corpse that had been leaning against Anyanka's chair fell to the floor with a thud.

Anyanka found herself on precarious footing on the edge of a bridge. She hadn't been this careless in almost a century! The dirty water of a river danced below her. Windmilling her arms to regain her balance, a hand grabbed the back of the skirt of her gown and pulled her back.

She fell into the arms of a young man, dressed simply and poorly in a dusty white shirt and black pants that were almost gray from wear. Despite his apparent poverty, he had a healthy, handsome face, with a great intelligence shining behind his eyes, a combination that usually indicated a life of theft.

He said to her, "You are far too pretty a creature for me to let that old river have you. Now. What would make a lady such as you want to throw herself... Anyanka." He dropped his romantic tone as he recognized her and hastily set her on her feet. "Spurned, eh? I always knew that one day you'd fall in..." He cleared his throat as she folded her arms and gave him a serious stare. "Love." he mumbled. "So what were you doing on that bridge?"

"Teleporting. I... was... that is..." she said as she tried to think of a lie Changing the subject, she said, "You looked mortal, Alexandre."

"Then I'm doing my job," replied the vengeance demon. Then, a look of comprehension dawned on his face. "You were doing a long-distance! You were teleporting to a new place without knowing the lay of the land. Wait 'til the boys hear about this one. D'Hoffryn's favorite little lady, screwing up!" he laughed.

"You do, and I'll tell about the time you cursed Maid Marion with a life of crime, and she ended up happily-ever-after with Robin Hood!" replied Anyanka fiercely.

At that, Alexandre backed away quickly, both figuratively and literally. "Please. It's embarrassing enough as it is, that the mortals know about it... Well. What brings you to Paris?"


	2. Let's Go

They made an odd pair, sitting in a small cafe so late at night: the one in a blood-stained gown and jewels, the other in rags. Fortunately, there was no one there to see them except for a drunk or two. The cafe was closed, but they did not need food, so it was just as well. The monuments of Paris rose black against the star-punctured sky as the vengeance demons discussed the plan.

"So, we pretend you are the Grand Duchess Anastasia, somehow having survived the massacre of your family, wandering Europe looking for any remaining relatives. Painful as it is, I have to admit it's genius. There's the fact you speak Russian, German, French, English, and Fyarl fluently, you were there during the Bolshevik Revolution... they don't need to know you caused it... and you learned so much about the Romanovs while you were being their confidante. Once we convince the others that you are Anastasia, all the ladies here in Paris will be falling all over themselves to share their gossip with you. We can have our vengeance!"

"There is no 'we.' I will not let you share in _my _brilliant idea!" said Anyanka staunchly.

"Ah, but you will look odd among the ladies here without an escort," replied Alexandre, standing and bowing in an imitation of a French dandy. "You need me, because things have changed a little in Paris since the Black Death. Oh, and it is not my fault that the men here thought their wives were lousy."

"Don't brag. The Plague was a group effort," she said as she considered his suggestion. "Oh, all right. In the morning, we'll get started bringing Paris the vengeance it desires."

They did not have to wait very long for morning, because even as Anyanka agreed to Alexandre's help, the sun was beginning to rise.

"First of all, you need a different dress," commented Alexandre. "It suits a suicidal beauty, but not a lady about to be presented to society. Blood stains are boring to wash, let's go buy a new one."

Anyanka chose the deep red dress with an eye to practicality. She wore it out of the tailor's shop, rinsing her jewels in a fountain and using the water's reflection to adjust her hair. Tugging on the gloves, she asked Alexandre who they were to meet first.

"Why, your..." he put his fingers into quote marks, "...grandmother, of course."

"Fine. The Grand Duchess Olga. Dowager Empress. Old. But, Alexandre, no one said anything about men in her life, not recently."

"Well, no. But you need her if you're to be convincing. If she believes in you, all her cronies will, too. But she's not the one that needs vengeance."

"Everybody needs veng... I see your point. Well, let's go."

As she began marching off across the square, Alexandre sat on the edge of the fountain, smirking, arms folded, waiting for her to realize that she had no idea where she was going.


	3. Locked Doors

(AN: There will be some historical references starting now. To best appreciate it, I recommend you stop by and look up the story of Anastasia Romanoff. That's where I got my information, anyway...)

Alexandre, still smirking, rang the doorbell of the small but luxurious apartment building. He had stopped by his garret of a home to change, with Anyanka waiting outside rather impatiently.

An elderly footman with a precisely trimmed mustache and a perfectly tailored suit answered, saying, "Excuse me, Madame et Monsieur. I did not see you arrive."

Anyanka and Alexandre looked at each other knowingly as they stepped inside, but said nothing, allowing the man to draw his own conclusions. As Anyanka looked around at the foyer, with its elegantly curved staircase and pastel stained-glass windows, her companion said, "I am Alexandre Roch, and this is my fiancée, Anyan..."

"Anya... Anna. Anna... uh... An... Anderson," offered Anyanka.

"My beloved, in addition to a slight stutter, seems to have no recollection of her past," began Alexandre in a persuasive tone, trying to make up for Anyanka's forced lie.

"Ahem... If I may be so bold, sir, I believe I am aware of what you want. Madame la Duchesse Olga is not in at the moment, but I will tell her you called."

"Please, when will she be back?"

"I do not know, sir." The footman began opening the door again, motioning for them to leave. "If you would, sir..."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but..."

The two quickly found themselves outside, with the click of a locking door.

Upstairs, they heard the footman, telling someone in a subservient tone of the pesky woman, "Anna Anderson," waiting outside with a companion.

"Liar," said Alexandre with a laugh.

"It's possible he doesn't know we're demons."

"No, I meant he lied to us."

"Oh. Come on, let's go introduce ourselves," said Anyanka, tugging on Alexandre's arm. "I mean, since she's here and all."

Locked doors are no problem for vengeance demons, and soon they were knocking on the door of the lady who could help Anyanka bring vengeance to all the spurned women of Paris, and Alexandre to all the scorned men. That is to say, all of them.


	4. Thinking More Than She Told Us

(AN: Suggestions are always welcome, and constructive criticism is vital. I'm trying to distance myself from the cartoon version of the movie, but as you will see, there are still many similarities.)

Anyanka stepped into the room first, trying to appear every inch the perfectly polite young lady, despite the annoyance she felt at being kicked out. Be graceful, eyes lowered, keep hands folded and still, speak when spoken to...

"Is there something I can do for you, Mademoiselle? How did you get in? Gerard... oh. Please excuse me, I tend to keep to myself these days, and he can be a bit protective. May I offer you some tea, perhaps, Miss Anderson? You and..." she paused, not knowing Alexandre's name.

Alexandre, as he stepped into the room, turned on the same charm he had displayed when Anyanka had almost fallen off the bridge. "My name is Alexandre Roch. I apologize for being so inconsiderate as to intrude on your lovely home without so much as a name to offer you, but I'm afraid your beauty is to blame."

"Oh? How so?" she asked, still watching Anyanka with interest.

"My mind was so hard at work memorizing your face, it could not spare a moment to remember my own name."

Olga laughed, "I'm old enough to be your grandmother, or, if I had the beauty you described, your mother. But I've used my years well, I have no regrets. Now, tell me what brings you to my door."

Anyanka, surprised by the hospitality and friendliness of the Grand Duchess Olga, decided she could take the chance of immediately stating her purpose. Even so, she knew she would have to phrase it very carefully. While she held a few aces compared to the other actresses who had tried to play this part, she would need to play her cards very carefully, and so, she said, "I came to see if you are my grandmother. I have only a few memories left, but..."

The Grand Duchess blanched when she heard the word, "grandmother." Then, she stood, eyes blazing with an intensity that a Shaman demon would envy. "Get out. Now. You have no respect for me, my past, or my granddaughter's memory."

Anyanka stood, but not to leave. She tried to stay in character, but found herself completely unable to be polite. She also found herself advancing on Olga, saying, "I came to you for your help! I don't usually need other people for anything, much less something as simple as ven..."

"Family," interrupted Alexandre quietly, far cooler than Anyanka. He was more accustomed than she to dealing with people who would prefer not to speak to him.

At Alexandre's words, Olga looked long and hard at him. Then, she said, "Go, I must collect myself. These memories you have brought forth... are difficult for me. But may I send for you again soon?"

"O-of course!" said Anyanka, "when would suit you?"

"Shall we say... tomorrow? During calling hours? Bring Alexandre with you."

As they left, Anyanka commented, "She must have enjoyed your flattery."

"No, it was something else. Did you see how she looked at me? When I stopped trying to charm her? She is thinking more than she told us."

They returned to Alexandre's garret in silence, both thinking of what they would need to do next.


	5. Speechless

(AN: My grandfather passed away recently, which was why I haven't been writing, but while I was putting together a scrapbook in his memory, I found a picture of him when he was young, and the resemblance to Spike was chilling. No wonder I have Spuffy fever! It must be in my DNA.)

As instructed, Anyanka and Alexandre both returned the next day in the early afternoon. It was a beautifully sunny day, and as they stood at the doorway, waiting for the butler to answer their knock, Anyanka examined a rose growing on a bush beside the door and mused over it briefly.

Alexandre arched an eyebrow, prompting Anyanka to explain, "So much of my work begins when a man gives someone twelve of these."

His response was interrupted by the opening door, with the butler standing inside, looking irritated. "Madame instructs that you are to be shown to the drawing room." he sniffed. As he did so, he kept balefully looking over his shoulder at the pair.

Once in the drawing room, as soon as the butler had left, Anyanka asked, "Do you think he was a basilisk in another life?"

Alexandre answered in a mischievous tone, "You'd recognize him if he was, wouldn't you?"

A few moments later, Duchess Olga entered, her dovelike voice saying, "Good afternoon. I'm pleased to see you've returned." She sat on the piano bench, facing the Alexandre and Anyanka. She turned to Anyanka and asked, "So you, Anna Anderson, can't recall anything of who you used to be or where you came from?"

"That's not true, your grace," responded Anyanka. "I remember a few places, which Alexandre has told me are in or near Russia, and I remember a few people, who Alexandre has told me are royal. I'm afraid my memories only include your face, so I was hoping you'd remember mine."

Alexandre smiled to hear her speak so persuasively. He had wondered if she would be able to keep her pride at bay long enough to win over the duchess, but it seemed she had managed to do just that.

"I don't," responded Olga coolly, but continued, "but age changes a young girl's face more than an old woman's. Do you have anything that will convince me?" It was clear from her tone that she did not believe Anyanka's tale in the slightest.

Anyanka decided to use the most convincing argument she had thought of the night before first. She hated speaking ill of an old friend, but began, "I remember how a crazy man would heal my brother. What was his name... Rasputin. Yes, I think that was it..." she said slowly, tapping her lip in thought. "Grigori Rasputin. I didn't like him much." she added crossly, overcompensating for her true feelings by overacting.

Alexandre shot her a warning look, and she continued, "He smelled bad, and people told me bad things about him. Things I didn't understand then. His drinking... the bribes... other things too awful to name... He didn't like me, either. He called me a little devil." She neglected to mention that it was in fondness, not anger, that he had called her that.

Lost in her story, she realized that the duchess was now regarding Alexandre with an eagle's eye, while he was busy focusing on the Anyanka's tale, ready to jump in to interrupt if she lost character. Anger flaring, she demanded, "What is it about Alexandre that you find so intriguing?! He is too young for you!"

Pausing a moment with a bland smile, deciding whether or not to explain herself, Olga said by way of an answer, "Alexandre, what do you recall of life in St. Petersburg?"

Utterly confused, the vengeance demon smoothly answered, "Nothing, your grace. But as Anna's example serves, memory is a strange and complex thing."

"Perhaps you will remember eventually. Anna has yet to convince me she has ever left Paris in her life, yet you... Alexei... are real. My grandson," she said with a smile. "You've learned diplomacy somewhere, I can't say where, but even though you've learned it well, it was not well enough to hide your memories."

As Anyanka stared at him, Alexandre stayed quiet, speechless for one rare moment.


End file.
